


Bitch Fit

by orphan_account



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Slapping, Temper Tantrums, Threats of Violence, Violence, feelings are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cain and Abel have an overly theatrical fight over Deimos. Snarky!Cain, Dramatic!Abel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitch Fit

**Author's Note:**

> Because I get off on the idea of these two having passionate lovers’ quarrels. Nuff said.
> 
> Edit: So I just realized I wrote 'Albus' instead of 'Abel' towards the end there. I suppose that's what you get when you write for HP and Starfighter at the expense of sleep!

When Abel slaps him, Cain is torn between kissing him and smacking him in the mouth. In the end he does neither. He takes another lazy drag on his cigarette and rubs at his stinging cheek.

Abel’s mouth is hanging half-open, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s just done. He takes a large step back, as if Cain might leap up from the bed and tackle him at any moment. “Aren’t you…” Abel swallows, breathing very hard. His pale skin is so flushed he’s literally gone bright red, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, reminding Cain he’s still furious. “Aren’t you going to hit me back?”

“No,” Cain mutters, still rubbing his cheek. He takes another drag on his cigarette. “I don’t hit girls, and you slap like a bitch,  _bitch_.”

Abel’s expression grows dark. “I’m not a girl,” he says through clenched teeth, flexing his fingers as if he’s just  _itching_  to wrap them around Cain’s throat. “And if I slap like a bitch, then why are you still rubbing your cheek?” He smirks a little now, looking vaguely satisfied by what he's done. “It must have hurt at least a little bit.”

Cain shrugs. “It tingles. Feels kind of good, actually.” This wipes the smirk off of Abel’s face. He draws his hand back to slap Cain again, but this time Cain sees it coming. He catches Abel’s bony wrist and holds it there, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he advises, and gets to his feet, blowing a fresh cloud of smoke into Abel’s face. Abel wrinkles his nose and coughs. “I let you get away with it the first time, but if you hit me again I might just have to bend you over my knee and spank you until you stop being such a bad boy.”

Abel lets out a strangled cry of frustration and yanks his wrist out of Cain’s grasp. Cain drags on his cigarette, thoroughly entertained by his navigator’s jealous little bitch fit. He’s barking up the wrong tree, but Cain isn’t going to tell him that—not right now, anyway. All of this is way too amusing to go and cut things short just yet.

“This isn’t funny!” Abel yells at him, wringing his hands. “You brought him in here. You were going to fuck him on my—on  _our_ —bed! What the hell is wrong with you? I knew you were a jerk, but I  _trusted_ you!”

Cain lets out a derisive snort. “Well, that was your first mistake, wasn’t it?”

Abel looks almost distraught now. He reels back as if Cain has kicked him, and shakes his head, backing away from his fighter. “You know, I think I’m starting to realize that,” he confesses, and folds his slender arms across his chest. “I never should have trusted you. I never should have  _slept_  with you. I was an idiot to think you could be a decent human being after what you did to me.”

Cain’s gaze falls to the cut on Abel’s lip—the one he’s never truly forgiven Cain for—and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean to bite you that hard,” he lies. “How long’s it going to take for you to get the fuck over it? So you’ve got a scar—you’re not as fucking  _perfect_  as you were before—but you’re still pretty as a picture, baby. You know half the fighters on-board want to fuck you. Just ask Praxis.”

Abel throws him a disgusted look and mutters something that sounds a lot like  _stupid_   _runt_. Cain’s not going to assume Abel just called him what Cain  _thinks_  he just called him, because Abel has never uttered such a coarse word in front of him before—he’s way too uppity to use language like that. But Cain supposes no one pushes Abel’s buttons quite the way he does, and Cain  _is_  a bit of a cunt.

“You know what? You make me sick,” Abel throws at him, and stalks over to the closet, throwing it open with an impressively dramatic flair.

Cain flops back down on the bed and folds his arms behind his head, settling in to watch Abel’s little tantrum flourish. “What are you doing?” he asks in a bored voice, quickly lighting another cigarette and stashing the lighter in his jacket pocket.

Abel throws his uniforms out of the closet and onto the floor, kicking them into a pile. “I’m leaving,” he declares, with a defiant tilt to his chin. “I’m going to request an emergency transfer, or go and stay with someone else, but I’m  _not_ staying here with you. This,” he says, gesturing between himself and Cain, “is over. You should be pleased, Cain. Now you can fuck whoever you want, and you’ll never have to worry about me walking in on you.”

Cain abruptly sits up. “You walk out that door and I’ll drag you back by the fucking hair.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Abel spits back at him, but the unevenness of his tone betrays his fear. He’s afraid of what Cain’s capable of, just like everyone else.

“Put your clothes back,” Cain orders him.

“No.”

“I said put them back.”

Abel stands there with his arms folded across his chest and doesn’t move.

Cain gets to his feet again and crosses the room until he’s standing in front of Abel, staring down at him. “I think we need to have a little talk, don’t you?”

Abel makes a face at him. “I don’t want to talk to you. You’re a lying pig.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Abel swallows and averts his gaze, and Cain knows he’s struck a nerve. They’ve never spoken about who either of them fucks in their spare time, and Cain has never promised Abel he’d be faithful. To do so would imply they were in some sort of relationship, and that was territory Cain wasn’t ready to explore, especially not with some prissy little navigator.

But he expects—no,  _demands_ —faithfulness from Abel, and so he supposes it’s time they both know where they stand on this.

“Are you fucking someone else?” He can’t conceal the way his fingers curl with rage at the thought.

Abel throws him an ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ sort of look and says, “You’re really going to ask me that after what I just caught you doing?”

Cain slams his hand into the closet above Abel’s head, causing the blond to jump involuntarily. “Answer the fucking question or I  _will_  hit you.” It’s an empty threat—he’s not going to hurt Abel—but Abel doesn’t need to know that.

Abel’s skin deepens to red again and he spits, “I’m not fucking anyone.”

Cain frowns. “Okay then, I’ll rephrase that. Is someone fucking  _you_?”

“No!” Abel growls, and shoves at Cain’s shoulder. “I just said no, what more do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Cain tells him, unfazed by the shove. “What about Praxis? You just said you were thinking of staying with someone else.” He clicks his tongue. “Weren’t thinking of him now were you?”

“No,” Abel seethes, glaring daggers up at Cain. “It’s not like that. He’s my friend. God, why are you so  _jealous_  of him?”

 _Because he wants you too, and I know he’d probably treat you better than I ever will, but you’re mine,_  Cain thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he snorts and says, “I’m not jealous of that smarmy prick, I just don’t want him pawing at you. He can go and fuck his own navigator, just not mine.”

“As of tonight, Cain, I won’t  _be_  your navigator.” Abel stares up at him defiantly and gestures for him to get out of the way. “I need to get the rest of my things.”

“You’re not leaving,” Cain says matter-of-factly. He’s starting to worry Abel’s actually serious now and not just throwing a tantrum, and so he adds, “You didn’t see what you think you saw.”

Abel actually laughs at his. “Do you seriously think I’m that stupid?”

Cain releases an impatient groan and says, “He came here—I didn’t invite him—and he threw himself at  _me_. Happy now, princess? We’re all nice and monogamous, so why don’t you unbunch your panties and come to bed?”

“He was practically straddling your cock,” Abel points out, with a scrutinising look.

“He’s always trying to straddle my cock,” Cain says with a shrug. When Abel glares at him, he adds, “Look, we had a thing once—it was before you—and he can’t let go. It’s as simple as that. I’m  _not_  fucking him.”

Abel watches him for a good long while. “Really?” he asks finally, posture slowly relaxing.

“Yeah,” Cain mutters, and turns around to flick his cigarette butt into the ashtray by the bed. He misses the mark, but only just. “I’m not fucking anyone but you, Abel,” he adds when he turns around, and he thinks he sees the beginnings of a sheepish expression on Abel’s face.

Cain frowns and throws the navigator an odd look. “Why do you care who I’m fucking anyway? You can’t stand me, you’ve said it yourself—you think I’m a pig. Why throw a hissyfit the second you see me with someone else?”

Abel shrugs and turns around, peeling off his shirt as he walks toward the bed. “I could ask you the same thing,” he mumbles, throwing the item of clothing to the floor. “And you are a selfish pig—but maybe you’re  _my_  selfish pig.”

Cain can’t think of anything to say to this. He throws Abel’s uniforms back in the closet and slams it closed before turning off the lights and crawling into bed next to Abel. 

 


End file.
